


This charming and pesky man

by j520j



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Friends With Benefits, Gentle Sex, Maxwell is such a slut, Maxwes, Maxwood, Mildly Dubious Consent, Monsterfucking, Multi, Open Relationships, Rough Sex, Voyeurism, Weswell - Freeform, maxwil - Freeform, slow burn... with Wilson!, wickerwell - Freeform, willowell, wolfwell - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27142376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j520j/pseuds/j520j
Summary: Wilson and Maxwell meet the others survivors' camp. The scientist is well received by the group, but the magician is hated there. Wilson is trying to keep him safe from the others, but soon he will discovery that Maxwell doesn’t need protection.Long story short: Maxwell gets fucked by everyone.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wes (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wickerbottom (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wigfrid (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Willow (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Wolfgang (Don't Starve), Maxwell/Woodie (Don't Starve), Willow/Winona (Don't Starve)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	1. Old people love

**Author's Note:**

> For all those thirsty to see our lovely lanky magical man do the 'disappearance magic trick' several times!
> 
> This chapter: Wickerbottom/Maxwell - Wickerwell

"How can you trust him?"

"Uh?" Wilson was involved in building a wooden fence to protect the camp and almost hammered his own finger. “Ah, good morning, Mrs. Wickerbottom. Who are you talking about?”

"Who else?" the woman lowered her glasses and gave the scientist an inquiring look.

"Oh... Maxwell, of course!" he dropped the tools and got up from the ground where he was sitting, brushing the dirt off his pants. “Well... I think it was the convenience. I already told you about my adventure to the Nightmare Throne, didn't I? When I got there you can be sure that I would like to kill the magician as much as the next guy, but... hmm, let's say I understood that he was not entirely responsible for his actions.”

"That man is a snake!" the librarian declared, lifting her chin. "Whatever victim speech he used, I'm sure it was just to throw wool in your eyes."

"Perhaps." Wilson had already thought about that possibility, but shrugged. “But believe me, Mrs. Wickerbottom, Maxwell is quite useful. Their use of shadows in combat, and even to create puppets for gathering resources, is not to be thrown away. Yes, it’s a little difficult to deal with him, with all his rants and arrogant behaviour, but he can prove to be a reasonably pleasant companion when you get used to it. In addition, he is the only one who has real power to take us home.”

"I understand." the woman still didn’t seem entirely convinced. “Well, you were certainly the one who suffered the most at the hands of that man, with the long Adventure and all, so I think I have no choice but to give Maxwell a vote of confidence. But this is for you, Higgsbury. I trust you and, therefore, I trust your word, not Mr. Carter. Do you understand the difference?”

"Yes I understand. And thanks for the vote of confidence.” the scientist smiled and bowed.

Shaking her head, Wickerbottom walk away and the scientist took a long breath. _One less!_ he thought. In the long list of people who swore to kill the magician, a name had been crossed out, for now.

It had been a few days since he and Maxwell had met with the group of survivors, and, as expected, they were not at all happy to see their former captor reunited with them. It was particularly difficult to prevent Winona and Wolfgang from breaking him in two, but with a good dialogue it was possible to avoid lynching.

But that did not mean that Maxwell was safe, not even close. In fact, the magician needed to learn to keep his mouth shut when he was reunited with others, because from time to time he still insisted on being arrogant and unpleasant. And, truth be told, everyone there in that camp, even Wendy and Webber, would be able to seriously injure him.

 _Stars, but why do I care so much about him?_ Wilson thought, going back to his work on the fence. _Yes, it's better to keep him alive so he can find some way to get us home, but besides ... why do I care about him so much?_

Pushing away any strange thoughts, the scientist decided to look for more logs to cut and manufacture boards.

..........................................

"I’m sorry, but no." said Maxwell categorically.

“Why? Why can't I take a look at this book? Two pairs of eyes can discover more than just one.”

"Not in this case, ma’am." the magician kept the Codex Umbra inside his suit jacket. “This is not a normal book. Well, I know your books aren't exactly 'normal' either, but this one, in particular, is dangerous. You can bitterly regret putting your eyes on it.”

Wilson was skinning some rabbits and could hear the conversation between the librarian and the magician. It didn't seem like an quarrel... yet! But he had better watch out if the woman wanted to attack Maxwell.

“Would I regret it, just like you? What's the use of a book if you can't read it?” she asked.

“Huhu, really, a book that can't be read, it's useless, innit? Perhaps it would be more useful if it served as fuel for the fire.”

"Ah!" Wickerbottom was horrified. "Although I have to admit that not all books in the world have appropriate knowledge, I would be the last person who would think about burning any type of book, however 'dangerous' it may be."

"Wise words! That's why I haven't burned this book yet, but I prefer to keep it away from others. And I don't think it would be useful for you, in one way or another. It’s written entirely in Latin.”

"I know Latin." the woman was offended. "The language is taught in some schools, if you don't know it."

“I don't know much about the American education system, ma’am, as I was raised in England. And in the little I have learned in your country, it’s not exactly the place with the most brilliant people in the world, even inside the schools and libraries.”

"Listen here, young man...!"

" _Young man_?!" Maxwell laughed. “I appreciate the compliment, but I'm not a spring chicken anymore. In fact, if Constant hadn't stopped my biological clock as soon as I got here, I have no doubt that we would both be almost the same age, my lady.”

“Humpf, this is up for debate. Although, in my extensive experience, most men keep think and act like boys even at advanced age. They just get more arrogant and irritating over the years... and your present attitude is proof of that!”

“Oh, sorry! Should I go to a blackboard and write ‘I am an arrogant and annoying old boy’ four hundred times?”

"If there was a blackboard around here, I would certainly ask you to write this at least a thousand times." said the woman, turning her back on the magician and walking away.

Maxwell managed to chuckle low enough for the librarian not to hear, but Wilson listened as he approached him.

“Please, Maxwell, stop antagonizing everyone here. For your own safety.”

"What? Come on, Higgsbury! I may be a 'frail man', as that mountain of muscle used to call me, but if you think an old lady is a threat to me, you sanity is really low!”

"Is not that!" the scientist said, uncomfortable. “You know what I mean, don't you? The less you provoke everyone, the easier your life will be here.”

"Heh, I appreciate your concern, but you can be sure that Mrs. Wickerbottom and I are on good terms."

"It seems to me that she hates you."

"Hates me?" the magician raised an eyebrow. “Why, Higgsbury! If you think that the little spat we had is a sign that she hates me, you have less knowledge of the facts of life than I thought!”

"Uh? What do you mean with...?"

"Forget it." the Englishman cut him off. “Go take care of those rabbits. They will not be prepared for dinner by themselves.”

..................................................

The survivors dined in peace, each eating a small portion of rabbit and potatoes. Some got small groups to eat together, like Willow, Wigfrid and Winona. In a corner Warly and Woodie were talking in French. On the other side, Wes did shadow theater for the children, Wendy, Walter and Webber. Near the campfire Wolfgang, Walani and Wagstaff also ate together.

Wickerbottom was sitting with Wilson. The two were not very talkative. That's when the librarian noticed someone was missing.

"Where's Mister Carter?" she asked, in an motivated voice that looked like she had been rehearsing that phrase in her head for some time.

“Maxwell? Oh, you know... he prefers to eat alone, inside his tent. The people here being uncomfortable when he's around.”

"Hm." the woman looked down, a little sad. "Do you think we should keep him company?"

"We should? Well... why not?” the scientist was surprised by the proposal, but at the same time happy. It was nice to know that Maxwell still had a chance to make friends there.

The two took their plates to the magician's tent, who was intent on garnishing an especially slippery potato with his fork. He was surprised by the intrusion.

"What did I do, this time?" he asked, suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing! We are here to keep you company.” Wilson said, smiling.

"Really?" the magician gave a soft laugh. “And whose idea was it not to allow me to be lonely tonight? Was it yours, my lady?”

"It was. And your tone of voice is almost making me regret it, though.” the woman said, frowning.

"Haha, sorry, bad habit!" the tall man crossed his legs to give his guests more space. "Please, my tend is yours!"

The trio went back to eating, while they exchanged words. Once again, Maxwell liked to make small provocations to Wickerbottom, which she returned the jabs with the same intensity. It soon became clear that it became a conversation between the two and it made Wilson feel like he had been left out.

And there was another feeling welling up in his chest. He couldn't say what it was, but it looked unpleasant.

.........................................

Two days passed and the group was even allowing Maxwell to eat with them around the campfire, although their disapproving looks remained sharp. The exception was the librarian, who seemed to have made a solid friendship with the Englishman.

It was not uncommon for the two of them watching the camp together when night fell. The librarian slept little and so did Maxwell. It was always them who stayed late at night around the fire, keeping the light on, talking together.

But that particular night, Wilson heard nature's call. His tent was out of the pair's line of sight and he can leave without attracting attention. Although he did not want to snoop, he was curious to know what the two older members of the group were talking about when night fell.

The librarian and the magician were sitting in front of the fire, each with a book in their lap. They were very close, with one being able to read the book the other had in his hands. It was not the Codex Umbra that Maxwell had in his hands this time, but another book. One from Wickerbottom, certainly.

Although Wilson couldn't make out the words exactly, Wilson knew they were having a friendly conversation. From time to time it was possible to notice that they were making small provocations to each other, although that ended with a friendly laugh. The two, really, seemed to be getting along.

A lot.

If someone asked the scientist how it happened, he wouldn't be able to explain it properly. At one point the woman's hands were resting on her lap, on the closed book, when the magician's long, pale hand wrapped around hers. She looked up with a small glimpse of surprise in them. And then her eyes widened even more when Maxwell kissed her knuckles.

And she... giggled? Yes, as hard as it was to imagine that matron with a strong personality acting like a shy schoolgirl, that was exactly what was happening. Wilson held his breath, as if he feared that the slightest noise he made might give him away. This was certainly not a scene intended for his eyes.

Much less what followed was something that demanded an audience. As if asking permission, the magician moved a little closer. Wickerbottom smiled and this was all the signal he needed to hang his head to the side and kiss her. The two held hands and deepened the kiss. In the light of the campfire and the full moon, they looked like the classic image of lovers who met at the end of a romantic adventure - although a little older than most of the protagonists of these stories.

At one point, her arms wrapped around the tall man's neck and pulled him closer. He had to fidget in place so as not to lose his balance, wrapping her waist in his hands. Without ever leaving her skin, Maxwell's lips traced her face and went down to her neck.

After a few more murmurs of pleasure, the librarian took the magician's face in her hands and, after a quick kiss on his lips, whispered something in his ear. The Englishman gave a wicked laugh and took the woman's hands, helping her up from the trunk and leading her like a gentleman into his tent. But, before entering, he summoned one of his shadow puppets to keep guard at the camp during their absence.

And it was at this point that Wilson realized that Maxwell and Wickerbottom were getting along a little _too well_.

And that strange bad feeling he had felt over dinner two days ago had come back in full strong.


	2. Burning Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to HEAT UP! 
> 
> Maxwell/Willow - Willowell

"They are dating?"

Wilson spit out his berry juice. Coughing, he tried to regain his composure while looking to his left side. Willow asked the question.

"Wha... w-what ?!" he said, choking. He looked around to make sure no one was around to overhear that conversation. "Who...?!"

"Maxwell and Wickerbottom." the girl said, in a whisper. "It's been a few days since I noticed that the lanky man is all gentlemany with her, cleaning the trunk where she is going to sit, making some compliments mixed with provocations... heck, he even kisses her knuckles every now and then."

"Oh, err... uh..." the scientist threw a few small punches to the chest. “I don't know, I mean ... why are you asking me that? Shouldn't you ask them this question?”

"Are you crazy?!" Willow looked scandalized. “I'm not going to just go up to them and ask, ‘hey, it’s true that you two are sleeping together’?”

"Ugh, don't ask this way, for sure!"

The girl was about to answer, but she stopped immediately when she saw someone approaching. Speaking of the devil...

"Good afternoon." Maxwell offered, politely.

"Good afternoon." Wilson said. Willow said nothing. "You brought more stones, I see."

“Yeah” he left the heavy backpack on the ground. “Winona needs to build something. I didn't ask, and she wouldn't tell me, anyway.” he looked towards the girl and noticed her strange look. "Can I help you with something, Miss Willow?"

"Ugh... no!" the pyromaniac said, with a slight tremor.

"Okay, but I think you could help me." the magician reached into his jacket pocket and took out a cigar. "Can you lend me your lighter?"

"What?!?" she exclaimed, with the same horror that she would exclaim if the tall man asked her for a kidney or something. "No way! You don't touch my lighter!”

"Geez, how much jealous ‘cause of a simple object."

" _Simple object?!_ " she took a threatening step and Wilson had to step forward.

"Willow, please!"

She frowned at the Englishman, who remained unperturbed. With a grunt, she turned her back on the two men.

"What was that?" Maxwell asked, annoyed. "Her love for that lighter is greater than I imagined, innit?"

"I think that's not what made her angry."

"Oh, and what do you know, Higgsbury?"

"Why do people insist and ask me questions about others, like I'm some kind of gossipy?!" the scientist exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air. “If you want to know more about someone, go directly to that person and ask!”

He walked away from the magician, perhaps with a little more anger than he wanted to show, leaving Maxwell perplexed with the unlit cigar in his hands.

.......................................

"Uh... Mrs. Wickerbottom..."

"Yes?" the librarian looked up at Wilson's shy figure.

"I ... I w-wanted to ask a question and... uh... please, if you think the question is inappropriate, you d-don't have to answer me!"

"Hmm, I'm used to answering questions and rarely left one unanswered." she adjusted her glasses. "What is it, Higgsbury?"

"Well..." he started, his fingers fidgety. "I wanted to know... I mean... it's not my business, b-but... stars! I'm just curious about... ”

"... to know if Maxwell and I are together?" she said, with a frown.

Wilson's face went as red as his vest. Shaking her head, the woman said:

"Young man, if you are expecting me to change my surname from 'Wickerbottom' to 'Carter' one day, you are sadly mistaken."

"Oh." the scientist swallowed. "But... well... you two might not want to get married, but are you... uh... dating?"

"Why, what a weird thing to say!" she smiled. “I wouldn't say that Maxwell and I are dating. In fact, I couldn’t even say that we are ‘together’, in the sense of having some kind of established relationship. But yes, every now and then, we ‘get together’.”

"And what is the difference?"

“The difference is that we have no obligations to each other. It's not like I'm regulating his schedule and demanding him to be in my tent every night, no. He is good company, very clever, fun when you ignore his cheap teasing and, well... yes, he is a very suitable lover in bed.”

If Wilson's face could have turned even redder, it would have. But it was no longer possible.

"However..." the woman gave a rueful sigh. “...he always made it very clear that, after a particularly painful relationship that he had in the past, he no longer intends to create strong bonds with anyone. I understand his reasons, because they are similar to mine. So, the agreement we have is this: if one day he or me feels particularly lonely, and we have no other appointments, we can put our mattresses together. And that is all."

The scientist was surprised by that. It seemed too modern a relationship for someone Wickerbotton's age.

"You mean you two are... uh... friends with benefits?"

"Is that what young people call it today?" the librarian laughed. “Yes, you could say that! But I have a very broad knowledge of life and I know how to recognize an old fox when I see one. Maxwell is not the type to settle for just one achievement. He must certainly be thinking about the next one.”

Wilson didn't know what to say. _So, Maxwell is a lady killer?!_ he thought, feeling slightly uncomfortable. _Now, why am I feeling this way? Is his life, after all!_

Indeed, if Maxwell had a colorful friendship with Wickerbottom, and with anyone else at the camp, it was none of Wilson’s business.

Or was it?

..........................................

"Fire, fiiiiiiire!" Woodie exclaimed, running towards the camp. "Cut down the nearby trees before the flames reach the tents!"

"Oh, Stars!" Wilson immediately got up and picked up an axe. Although he didn’t cut down trees as fast as the Canadian, the two managed to cut down the trunks and uproot the nearby bush to prevent flames from touching their belongings.

"Phew...!” after the work done the scientist wiped his forehead. “That was Willow's thing, right?”

"Who else?!" the woodcutter said, stroking the blade of Lucy. "A fire like this, happening out of nowhere, can only be hers!"

"Well, she has the strange habit of always leaving the flames in one piece, but I'll check."

Wilson started to follow the trail of burnt trees. In his backpack, some poultices, bandages and painkillers made from a mixture of herbs, just in case. When he reached the point where the fire had started, he could observe the girl kneeling in front of a tree. There was a person sitting in the middle of the burnt roots.

"Maxwell?!"

The magician had an expression of pain and part of his suit burned. The girl tried to help him as best she could. She had tears in her eyes.

"Please, forgive me!" she asked, holding one of his wounded arms. There were red marks that indicated a second degree burn. “Ah, Wilson! Is that you?! Help him, please!”

"What happened?!" it was a stupid question. It was obvious that what had happened was that Maxwell was too close to the flames while Willow was setting things on fire. "Where did you get burned?!"

"Ugh... here!" he pointed weakly at the injured arm Willow was holding. "And I think a little here on the side and… on the right leg."

The scientist quickly began removing the magician's clothes. Fortunately the burns were not severe enough to make the clothes stick to the skin. He began to treat the wounds with poultice, under Willow's sorry look.

"Sorry!" she pleaded again.

"Heh, all right, miss... it was my fault, anyway." he gave a soft laugh, although he winced in pain. "You wouldn't have been so angry if it weren't for me."

"What were you doing?" Wilson asked, wrapping clean bandages around the magician's leg.

"We were talking!" she said, looking away.

"Arguing, to be more exact." he let out a groan.

"Yeah... arguing! You really are stubborn and pesky, old man!”

"Hehe, I know."

Although curious to know the topic of the discussion, Wilson decided not to ask. After a few minutes, he helped Maxwell walk painfully back to camp.

..................................................

Willow must have been feeling quite guilty, as she made sure to keep an eye on Maxwell that night in her tent. She took a pot of cold water to put on the burns and took some more bandages.

It was the scientist's turn to stand guard in the camp with Wigfrid. The opera singer was not the type to have the most lively topics to talk about, unless you were interested in Nordic legends. At one point, the man realized that he was almost asleep sitting. He didn't have much rest that day.

"Yöu can gö tö sleep, Wilsön." the redhead said, eating some meatballs. "Yöu can let me guard the fört. I’ll prötect it with mine life!"

"I'm sure you will." he said, with a smile. _Well, if she makes a point, I think I'm going to sleep._

The scientist went to his tent, which, after the small fire disaster, had to be moved a little closer to the others so that the smell of burning was more tolerable. That odour would probably stay in the place for two day, courtesy of Willow.

Speaking of the girl, her tent was the closest to Wilson's. Less than half a meter away. And it was because of this closeness that he could hear the moans.

At first Wilson was worried, thinking it meant that Maxwell was in a lot of pain from the burns. But while some of the moans were his, others were not. Willow's voice could be heard and she didn't seem to be in pain. Not even a little.

The whitish light inside the tent indicated that a firefly lantern had been lit. He could see the sinuous silhouette of the girl sitting on Maxwell's body, moving as if she were in a horse saddle, her moans getting louder and louder.

 _Fuck!_ the scientist thought, being surprisingly close to the truth in that situation.

At one point, it was possible to see the shadow of her hand covering her mouth. The movement of her hips started to accelerate and, in the end, she gave a hoarse groan. Shortly after, Maxwell did the same.

Breathing heavily, she started to lower herself. Maxwell raised himself up on his elbows and the silhouette of their faces was close. The two stood embracing, letting out little sighs, until a groan of pain from the magician broke the mood.

"Ups, sorry." it was possible to hear the girl say. "It's still sore here, isn't it?"

"Yeah..." the tall man said, in a weak voice. "But that's okay, I'll be fine tomorrow."

"Good to know." Willow said. Her silhouette indicating that she was lying on his side.

At one point, it was possible to see the Englishman grabbing a backpack and opening it. He removed a long object from inside.

"Can I borrow the lighter, miss?" he asked, in an alluring voice.

"I already said that you cannot touch my lighter." said the girl, holding up an object. "I'll light it for you."

The yellow light from the lighter flashed for a few seconds. The two silhouettes were back in line and, after about twenty minutes (yes, Wilson counted!) the firefly lantern was also turned off.


	3. The Strong and the Frail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 22th of October, happy b-day, Maxwell! And today you have cake… Beefcake!
> 
> Maxwell and Wolfgang – Wolfwell

Winter was coming and the camp was stirring to gather resources. Wilson, Wolfgang and Maxwell were chosen to collect logs. Woodie would, too, if he hadn't turned into a werebeaver last night, so it was better to keep him away from wood.

The trio went to the forest to begin to cut the trees. It was an unusually hot day for autumn and they were shirtless, sweat running down their backs as they worked. On the way back, while the weightlifter carried two whole tree trunks on his shoulders, the scientist carried four logs in each arm and the magician carried twenty-eight... twigs.

"What?" Maxwell asked, looking at Wilson's disgusted expression. "I'm carrying more units than the two of you together."

"Humpf!" the shorter man grunted. "Well, you could at least have summoned one of your puppets to come with us."

"Oh no!" the mountain of man exclaimed, turning to both of them. "Shadow things are scary!"

"I thought you were used to them, pal."

"A little, but Wolfgang sometimes forgets that it’s the frail man's thing."

The Englishman made a face, he hated it when the weightlifter called him that. Wilson just smiled and kept walking among the two men. From time to time he would look at each other. The physical difference between Maxwell and Wolfgang was so great that it was even comical. But something they had equally was their height.

The Russian was the only one there tall enough to look Maxwell straight in the eye. Well, except when his stomach was empty, then he became hunched and weak. But when he was at his peak, the weightlifter was strong enough to carry the magician around with a single arm. That had already happened on an occasion that Maxwell was injured and had to be carried to camp.

The three deposited the wood inside one of the tents. It was raining a lot in those days and the logs needed to be protected so as not to swell and rot with water. Wolfgang's powerful muscles stretched and compacted with all the work he did. It was a beautiful sight, Wilson couldn't deny it.

"Enjoying the view, Higgsbury?" Maxwell whispered and almost made the scientist jump out of the skin.

"Ugh, gimme a break, Maxwell!"

"Oh sorry. I'm just surprised to find that you're an admirer of men.” he chuckled. "When I met you in that lab, I thought you were not interested in anyone whatsoever."

“And I still not.” he cleared his throat. “Wolfgang is a nice guy, but it's not like I'm interested in him.”

"Huhu, and who would you be interested in at this camp?" the magician raised an eyebrow in mockery. "In me?"

"Augh!" the scientist shuddered from head to toe, an exaggerated reaction made just to disguise another type of tremor he felt when he heard the phrase. “Have you ever looked yourself in the mirror, Maxwell?! You are thinner than a scarecrow and your face is like a one of these fairytale witch!”

"Was I supposed to be offended?" the magician asked, nonchalant. "I've heard worse than that since I was seven."

"Really? So why did you get all squeamish when Wolfgang called you ‘frail man’?”

The Englishman paused, followed by a grimace of disgust.

“Because this can get me in trouble here at the camp. It’s not because of the offense, but because it exposes myself, you know? Someone who may still have ill-resolved grudges against me no need to be reminded of how much my stay on the throne affected my health.”

"What? Now, stop being silly! Nobody here wants to lynch you anymore.”

"I'm not so sure."

Just as the magician said that, Winona crossed the camp carrying some tools. She shot an ugly, and somewhat sickened, look at Maxwell's shirtless figure, turning away shortly afterwards.

"See?" he crossed his thin arms.

"You know, something that could really help your good coexistence here would be for you to get off your pedestal a little." Wilson sighed. “Stop thinking that everyone here spends more than half an hour thinking about you every day, Maxwell. People have more to do than watch your every move or think of different ways to kill you all the time!”

There was a bitterness in the scientist's voice that he soon noticed when he finished saying that sentence. He couldn’t point out the reason for this feeling, so he could only hope that the magician hadn’t noticed.

Unfortunately, one of Maxwell's talents was being very observant, the bastard. He raised an eyebrow, accentuating the lines on his forehead.

"Right." he said, succinctly. And Wilson almost thanked him for not elaborating on the answer. Turning his back on the shorter man, he walked towards Wolfgang. “Hey, pal. Do you need any help there?”

"Wood needs to be safe, rain will come." the Russian said absently.

"I know, I wanted to ask you if you need help with anything else."

" _Hеt_ , frail man too frail for another job."

The grimace Maxwell sketched made the scientist feel vindicated for a few moments. Smiling, he turned and went about his other duties.

...........................................

It was raining torrentially. As some of the tents had to be used to protect resources, they were all in pairs. Maxwell and Wickerbotton shared the same tent, while Wilson and Willow were inside his. The girl lit and unlit her lighter without stopping.

"I'm bored." she complained, exhaling.

"Keep this thing off, will you?" asked the scientist, while looking at some blueprints.

Willow grunted and took some flowers from a chest. She started working on a garland to distract herself. The girl looked down and this allowed the scientist to look at her neck.

There were purple marks on the skin. Love bites. Wilson squeezed the blueprints, holding on to make no inappropriate comments or questions _. Is she and Maxwell still…?_ well, regardless of whether the answer was yes or no, that was none of his business.

 _“Who would you be interested in at this camp? In me?"_ the magician's question burned in his mind. _The nerve of this man!_ the scientist shifted in place, uncomfortable.

"What's it?" asked the girl, noticing the scientist's discomfort.

"Nothing, nothing." he said, turning his face away.

After almost half an hour the rain passed. Wilson came out of his tent to stretch his legs and check that nothing in the camp had been damaged by the strong wind.

"I think the rain must have already cleaned all the pots." Warly said, stretching as he left his tent. "What do you think of me making a tall bird _fricassé_ , Monsieur Wilson?"

"I think it's a good idea. There is a nest nearby, call Wolfgang to fetch some eggs.”

"And where is he?"

"Who?"

"Monsieur Wolfgang."

"Isn't he with you?" Wilson raised an eyebrow.

“ _Non, non_. Just before the rain ended he left the tent. I think it was after our distinguished _homme magique_.”

"Maxwell?!" now the scientist was concerned. "Why?"

"I do not know for sure." the cook scratched his head. “He was looking at rain through the opening of the tent and realized that Maxwell came out with an umbrella. He said something along the lines of ‘watching over weak frail man’ or something.”

"And where did they go?!" Wilson thought of the magician's words: _Someone who may still_ _have ill-resolved grudges against me…_ “Damn it, Warly! I'll go after them!”

"Oh, do you think something may have happened?"

"I don’t know. In any case, don't tell anyone for now! I will investigate first!”

Wilson started running into the forest. His feet stepping in puddles and soaking his pants. He just kept thinking that Maxwell's arrogance had finally pushed even a kind soul like Wolfgang over the line. He shivered at the thought of the damage a behemoth like that could do to skinny Englishman.

After a few minutes of running he can make out the silhouette of the two men in the distance. They were in the same place where they had cut down trees the day before. The magician had his back against a tree while talking to the weight lifter. From that distance, it was difficult to hear what they were talking about.

That was when Wolfgang suddenly reached for Maxwell's collar and lifted him. Wilson was startled, thinking of approaching to stop that aggression, but the magician's suffocated laugh made him change his mind.

He couldn't see the expression on the face of the Russian, who had his back to him. The magician, on the other hand, smirked. Another shake and his fragile frame hit the tree trunk, still being held by the weightlifter's colossal arm.

Despite the rough treatment, Maxwell continued to smile and placed his hands gently on the muscular arm that held him. It was almost as if the Englishman was enjoying being treated that way. And the confirmation of that was when he put his hands on Wolfgang's shoulder and pulled him towards him, kissing him.

The strong man moved his hands to the magician's waist, enveloping him completely in his sturdy arms. The magician's long fingers scratched his scalp, while his fleshy lips traced the line of his jawline, down to his muscular neck and taking small bites of the trapezius muscle.

Wolfgang groaned and said something in Russian that Wilson didn't understand, but by the intonation he was telling the magician to go 'harder', which he did, increasing the intensity of the bites until teeth marks were left on the skin. The scientist thought about Willow for a moment.

Holding Maxwell in place with one arm, the weightlifter brought his other hand up to his own clothes and practically tore the fabric when he started to undress. Well, he was always an exhibitionist when it came to showing his muscles and the magician seemed to enjoy the show. He wrapped his long arms around the strong body in front of him and lowered his head, bringing his mouth to the swollen nipples and drawing more sighs from the behemoth.

With a desperate yelp, Wolfgang lifted Maxwell's face roughly enough to hurt and kissed him, pressing him against the tree. The Englishman responded with one hand caressing the weightlifter's hard dick, while the other hand went to his own pants to open them. The two members rubbing at each other, wrapped by the magician's long fingers.

At this point, Wilson also needed to loosen his pants.

The two continued to make out for some time, until Wolfgang said (by the tone, imploring) something in Maxwell's ear. He laughed and fished out of his suit pocket something dark and slimy ( _nightmare fuel?)._ He rubbed the substance on his hands and then took his fingers to... _oh!_

Wilson had to cover his mouth to keep an inconvenient moan from escaping and denouncing his presence. Maxwell was taking his damp fingers up to his entrance. Wolfgang decided to help, keeping one of his skinny legs raised while he worked with his fingers in and out. The magician's sighs indicating that he was enjoying that preparation.

After the longest minute of his life, the scientist can witness the Russian lifting his companion and brushing his hard, wide dick close to the entrance, as if asking for permission to begin. When magician captured his lips again, this was all the signal he needed and he entered.

The movements started slowly, to give Maxwell's body time to get used to the thickness, but soon began to pick up speed. The sound of moans and backs hitting the tree were in the same level, until the first started to get louder. The mountain of muscle was pushing hard into Maxwell's thin body, but the magician didn't seem to care. Instead, he wrapped the weightlifter's waist with his skinny legs, encouraging him to continue.

The last leaves of autumn fell on Wolfgang's huge shoulders, which were scratched and bitten, with blood visible in the wounds, but he didn't seem to care. Just as Maxwell wouldn't mind the bruises he was getting from that treatment, which would probably leave him with purple marks for days. The two men were copulating fiercely, like animals.

And it was howling like a wolf that Wolfgang (no pun intended) cum at the same time that Maxwell sank his nails further into the weightlifter's flesh, breaking the skin and letting out a groan that gradually lost its intensity. The two stood motionless for a moment, catching their breath - and by now Wilson also needed a minute to compose himself.

With a care that contrasted with the violence of minutes ago, Wolfgang put the thin man on the ground, but it was clear that his legs were not in a condition to support him for the next few minutes. The two sat at the foot of the tree and, in the silence that fell shortly after, the scientist could hear Maxwell giving a tired laugh, while asking:

"Heh, what do you think? Am I still ‘too fragile’, pal?”


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short interlude, just to introduce you guys to the situation of the couples at the camp. It’s a free real state, if you know what I mean! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Ah, and a little bit of Winona/Willow and Maxwell/Wolfgang.

“Did you fuck Willow?!”

Wilson had a coughing fit when he heard the phrase, even though it wasn't meant for him. Wolfgang and Maxwell raised their heads at the same time and Warly almost dropped the ladle into the soup pot. The Russian didn’t understanding anything and the magician made a face.

Winona had asked the question and now she was looking at the tall man with an angry expression and her hands on her hips. Willow was running towards her, raising her hands.

"Stop, Winnie!"

"I just want to clear things up!" the woman said, crossing her arms. "Say, Maxy... are you and Willow together?"

"No." the response was quick and direct. “Miss Willow and I are not together. But, do I suspect you two are?” he smiled.

"But did you fuck with Willow?!" Charlie's sister still wanted the answer.

"Winnie, I already told you that means nothing!" the firestarter said, with a tired expression.

“Miss Willow is correct. She and I slept together a couple of times, and nothing more. We're not tied up or anything. She is a grown woman, self-owned and free to be with whomever she wants.”

"Hmm!" Winona's expression was still doubtful and jealous. "Right. Okay, I believe you. And I imagine that you are with Mr Wickerbotton now, are you? I saw you all kind with her the other day.”

"Magic man is with me." Wolfgang said, wrapping his colossal arm around Maxwell's shoulder.

Wilson and Warly looked at each other, the cook was surprised, but Wilson wasn’t, although he pretended to be surprised. Winona and Willow opened their eyes wide and Maxwell patted the Russian's arm, indicating that he was squeezing him too tightly.

"Problem?" the strongman asked, after loosening his grip a little.

"Oh, no. None at all." the woman said, clearing her throat. “Well, I hope this is true! Don't get close to Willow, do you hear me?! She is mine!"

The girl's expression was slightly irritated. It was clear that as much as she liked Winona, she didn’t enjoy being treated as if it were someone's private property.

"Uh... I think I'll get the drinks." Warly said, wanting to get away from that awkward discussion. The scientist also thought about moving, but he wanted to see how that conversation would end.

"As I said and reiterate, Miss Adams..." the magician began to speak, with solemnity. “...Willow and I aren’t together. In fact, I must congratulate you. She is a lovely girl and you are a strong woman who will certainly do her a lot of good. I approve the new lovely couple.”

"We don't need your approval!" the woman returned, still irritated. She took the girl's hands. "Come on, Willow."

"One moment, I'll get a bowl of soup too." the pyromaniac released the woman's hand to get the food. When Winona strolled away a little more she turned to Maxwell and Wolfgang and smiled. "Really? Are you two together?”

"Uh... yes?" the weightlifter glanced at the magician, as if waiting for him to confirm.

"As long as you want me, pal." Maxwell gave Wolfgang a quick peck on the lips. It was possible to see his moustache curl and he turn red. “But please, don't think that I'm restraining you with an iron ball on your leg or something, you're also free. Not that, for someone strong like you, an iron ball makes any difference!”

"Oh, cute!" Willow chuckled as she filled her bowl. “You’re such a chad, old man!”

"What can I say? I was blessed with a charm beyond limits.” he said, arrogantly.

"Well, be careful to not have a broken bone during your nighttime fun, Maxy." the girl winked at both men. "I would love to see how do you do it together, though."

Wolfgang turned redder than a pepper and Maxwell just smiled. Wilson, in turn, turned his face away. A mixture of irritation, jealous of desire squeezing his chest.


	5. No Words Needed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will change the POV a little in the next fics. Poor Wilson, I think he's seen too much!
> 
> Maxwell and Wes – Uh… Maxwes? Weswell? I don’t know… help me here! 

"Where's Wilson?" asked the magician, looking around curiously as he put firewood into his backpack.

"He went to north to prepare the fake camp." was Woodie's answer, while hitting a tree. The snow on the leaves fell with each stroke.

"Fake camp?"

"Humpf!" the Canadian stopped using his axe with a grunt. “Did you forget that while your majesty was sitting on your ebony throne, we all had to deal with deerclops here, eh? They destroy our camps! So when winter approaches, we create fake camps for them to destroy.”

"Ah, I remember." Maxwell had to contain a chuckle to keep from sounding too cruel. “Well, but it's only the beginning of winter. These creatures will only appear much later.”

"Better saved than wailing, eh?"

"Hmmm, yes, I suppose."

The truth was that the magician had some idea of why Wilson had been avoiding him lately. The poor scientist was as easy to read as an open book and it was clear that he had a certain affection for Maxwell. _Well, I really am the most charming demon in this place, no surprise!_ he thought, proudly. He couldn't help himself.

But he had promised himself that he would take no initiative. Unless the situation started to become unsustainable and the sexual tension got too annoying. Still, he preferred to allow Wilson time to organize his feelings - especially jealousy.

Of course, the Englishman could confront him with a good conversation, but sometimes words just got in the way.

And speaking of lack of words...

Maxwell looked to the side and caught Wes watching him again, hiding behind a tree. The poor mimic was the person who had the most difficulties in relating in that place. He was shy and really mute. To make matters worse, he was illiterate, so he couldn't write - either in French or English - so that people could understand him. Everyone in the camp treated him like he was a big child, just like Webber, Walter and Wendy.

But Wes was not a child. Not even far.

The Englishman smiled, showing that the mimic's admiration didn’t go unnoticed. The lad hid behind the tree, probably with his face turning red under that painting (by the way, where did he get materials for the white painting at Constant?).

Maxwell returned to the camp. The children played with snowballs under the watchful eye of Wigfrid, who said that the winner of that war would be awarded by Odin. Wickerbottom asked everyone to be careful with their aim not to hit something they shouldn't, but the warning came too late.

Warly swore in French when one of the snowballs fell right in the middle of one of his special dishes. Fortunately, the children didn’t understand him, but the librarian scolded the cook, who effusively apologized - also in French. Further away from the place, Maxwell could see that Wes had covered his ears and then walked away, running towards the forest.

 _Silly lad_. the magician thought, shaking his head and going after him. Wes appeared to be the sensitive type to fight scenes. Something related to his past. His muteness was not due to a physical problem, but to emotional trauma. His parents fought a lot and, whenever the boy asked them to not fight, they told him to shut up - followed by some physical aggressions.

Wes's silence was a sad psychological scar. And Maxwell, when he was sitting on the throne of the nightmare, took advantage of this.

_Would you like to go to a place where you no longer have to see people fighting?_

_Where would you no longer have to face the contemptuous look of people because of you profession?_

_Where would nobody else yell at you?_

The magician frowned as he remembered the bargain he made with the fool Wes. Actually, he was sorry for most of the bargains he made with those poor wretches, but some of them he felt more sorry for than others. Especially because, in the case of Wes, he failed to keep his promises: at Constant, there was still someone fighting. And there were still people looking at him with contempt for his inability to... hmm... to do everything.

"Wes!" Maxwell shouted, breaking his third promise as well. "Where are you? It will be dark soon, you need to go back to the camp! Damn, do you even have a thermal stone with you?!”

No reply. Typical. It’s not as if a mute is going to shout back, but the magician hoped that at least he would appear.

“Please, Wes! Show up!" the magician rubbed his arms dramatically. "I'm freezing! And I can't go back without you!”

This seemed to do the trick, as the Englishman heard someone moving very close. When he turned to speak to the mimic, he had an unpleasant surprise.

A spider attacked him. Apparently, that area was dangerously close to a nest, and the snow white did not allow the magician to see the cobwebs in time. The arachnid jumped Maxwell, slightly injuring him, thanks to the shadow armor he was wearing.

"Damnit!" the magician reached into the inside pocket of his coat, fishing for Codex Umbra. He would summon his shadow sword to...

 _Ugh! NO Nigthmare Fuel!_ he thought, just as he received a second attack. _Damn, I need to run!_

Unfortunately, he was out of luck that day and his shoes skidded on the ice. The magician fell to the ground, his face in the snow. The sound of the giant spider came closer and the tall man cringed, preparing to receive yet another attack.

But this attack never happened, as Wes hit the creature with an axe. And hit it again. And again and again...

In the end, there was only a pool of blood and black hair in the snow. And the mime continued to hit that area in silent fury.

"Wes... that's enough, it's over!" the magician took the mimic's arm. "You already killed the spider."

As if awakening from a trance, the mime looked at the magician with surprise and then looked towards the spider he had killed. As he looked at his own hands, soiled with the monster's remains, he began to cry. A silent cry, sad to see. He really hated violence, even if it was in self-defense. Or in defense of a companion.

"Shhh, shhh." Maxwell hugged him. “It's okay, lad. It's okay, you did it right. ” he rubbed the younger man's back and arms, feeling his body cold. He shouldn't be carrying any thermal stones. “Thank you for saving me, by the way. Now, get up. Let's go back to camp before you freeze. ”

..................................................

The night was cold and everyone was sharing tents to keep warm. Maxwell was deciding which of the two he had been offered, Wolfgang's and Wickerbottom's, he would take, but he soon noticed that someone was unmatched.

"I think I'm going to spend the night with Wes."

The mimic was always the last to choose the group, as his muteness could be a little unnerving, especially on sleepless nights. Not to mention that everyone complained that he kicked too much during the night.

And boy, everyone was right! Wes was a terrible roommate. It wasn’t for nothing that even the children didn’t like to be with him, he kicked and moved too much in his sleep.

But Maxwell, who had more experience with nightmares than everyone there, knew very well the reason for his unease. Sighing, he gently shook the mimic's shoulders until he woke him. He opened his eyes wide, dirty makeup was smeared with tears.

"Bad dreams, innit?" the magician said, with a soft voice.

Wes sat up, rubbing his eyes, and nodded.

"Sorry, pal. " the tall man said.

The mime dipped his head to the side, not understanding.

"Sorry for deceiving you." Maxwell said at last. “Well, I fooled everyone here, but your case was one of the most cruel, right? I mean, at least for everyone else, I kept part of what was promised. I promised Wendy that she could talk to her dead sister again, I promised Wilson that he would receive a lot of knowledge, I promised Wolfgang that he would be the strongest man in the world... of _this_ world, of course.” the magician cleared his throat. “But in your case, I was unable to keep any promises. Sorry."

Wes watched the older man with interest. It was difficult to read his expression at times. Most of the time, the mime seemed to misunderstand what was said to him. Perhaps not even his understanding of English was so good.

Words really were of no use at that moment.

Maxwell approached, cautiously, and planted a soft kiss on the mimic's pink cheek.

The younger man's astonished look was comical. He opened his mouth in a large 'Oh' that made the magician laugh. And he tried hard not to sound cruel or disrespectful.

“Ah, I'm sorry again! I, well... I didn't think you'd be so amazed. But this was my way of... uh?”

While the magician was speaking, Wes also planted a kiss on the Englishman's high cheek. The latter chuckled and fell silent, returning the gesture of affection with another kiss, to which the mime replied with equal intensity and more flush on the cheeks.

Finally, Maxwell kissed Wes on the lips. And before he turned away, the mimic returned the kiss, wrapping his arms around the taller man's neck and pulling him close. Although he was mute, it was possible to hear the soft sighs that escaped his mouth as the caresses became more and more intimate between the two.

That night, the mime slept peacefully like a child.


	6. The Trickster Giant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this one was more work than I expected. History divided into two points of view. Please tell me what you think.
> 
> Wigfrid and Maxwell - I'm pretty sure it's never been done before. What tag should I put? Maxfrid? Wigwell? Maxwig? Ugh, they all sound awful! -_- ‘

**The trolls are at the door. The rhythm of war drums makes the warrior's blood boil. She grabs the spear hard enough to broke it in half. With a sharp look, more than her own weapon, she attacks the monsters with a ferocity that would make even Herfjötur hesitate, in awe.**

**There are shadows everywhere. The warrior no longer knows who is an ally and who is an enemy. She fears that the pact she made with Jötunheimr's treacherous giants is the reason for her downfall. Well, if she has to fall today, it will be in glory. She screams, at the top of her lungs:**

**"Brave söuls öf Midgardr, tö me!" Wiggrif raises the bloody spear in his hands. "Sang the final victöry söng, ‘cause töday we will have dinner in Valhalla!"**

"Oh, for the love of ...!" Maxwell grimaced, avoiding rolling his eyes so as not to lose his attention in the battle.

When the opera singer agreed to go with him to pick some evil flowers he thought he was lucky. Wigfrid was the best fighter in the camp, even better than Wolfgang, who was just brute force. And although she was slightly suicidal, it was much safer to be with her than any other survivor in a fight.

However, the magician did not count on the woman also deciding to pick some evil flowers too, to 'finish the task faster', reducing her sanity drastically. Seriously, the barriers that separated reality from fantasy in Wigfrid's head were already crumbling before she arrived at Constant. And when she got here, it got much worse.

"Woman, watch out!" the magician tried to help as he could, summoning one of his duelists, but the singer was injured and already slightly insane while fighting the merms. When the last of them fell, she continued to hit the air, indicating she was seeing the nightmare monsters.

**Damn the Fossegrimen and the Kraken's children! They drew more blood from the warrior than she expected. As if that were not enough, the crawling creatures of Helhem came to finish the job and throw her into the clutches of death.**

**"Nöt without a fight!" she cried out, though she felt her strength was almost gone. "I will die bathed in mine öwn blööd and in the blööd öf mine enemies!"**

**And she attacked the black shadows with all the ferocity she had left. On her tired lips, a final song that would announce her arrival at the winners' afterlife hall. Richard Wagner's song playing in her ears. Was she back on stage? Or was that just a hallucination?**

**Oh, how Wigfrid would like to take to the stage again in the company of The Metropolitan Opera! For her, the stages were a true paradise, the real reward for dedicating a lifetime to...**

**… the arts or the war? Or both? She couldn't tell anymore.**

**Her spear broke when she pierced the creature made of shadows. Her arms shook and her hands became numb. She dropped to her knee, unable to get up. _Nöt! I will n_ ö _t be killed with my head d_ ö _wn!_ she clutched the broken spear handle in her hands. _Come tö me, Valkyries! We will fight forever in Valhalla!_**

**But when the monster was about to hit her, a thin, fast shadow placed itself in front of the brave warrior, avoiding the attack. It was shaped like a giant, carrying a powerful curved sword. The two creatures clashed and, in an explosion of shadows, both crumbled in the air.**

"Finally!" Maxwell said, wiping sweat from his face. "Hmm, it looks like we got more than just evil flowers, but free nightmare fuel!" he knelt beside the actress, picking up the pulsating and gooey shape of solidified bad dreams and placed it in the bag. “This trip was very profitable... uh? Wigfrid?”

The woman had cuts and wounds all over her body. The helmet was almost falling from her head, where a trail of blood merged with her red locks in her sweaty face. Her eyes were wide, unfocused. She was still insane.

“Oh, Heavens! You were badly hurt this time!” the magician tried to hold her gently by the shoulders. "Here, let me help you..."

**The warrior could feel long, cold fingers touching her injured skin. She looked up, expecting to see the friendly face of a battle mate. But what she saw was Loki's face, the trickster. The shadow giant that deceived all Aesirs.**

**"Begöne!" she shouted, pushing the enemy away. "Yöu will nöt take me tö Jötunheimr!"**

**"What?" the deceiver's voice was low and irritating. "What do you mean? I am trying to help you. You are hurt... ”**

**"Yöu will nöt deceive me this time!" she tried to get up, but soon realized that her legs were weakening. "N-nö! Yöu... y-yöu wön't... ugh!"**

**And then, the brave warrior was enveloped in the shadows. Once again.**

……………………………

It was night and Maxwell had to improvise a camp in the middle of the forest. He wouldn't be able to take Wigfrid in his arms all the way back, so it was better to wait for the actress to recover.

The magician had some healing salves and treated her wounds. It seems that that fight was more difficult than he had predicted, especially for the singer's already damaged sanity. But she would survive. She was strong and had literally returned from the dead more than once.

The tall man improvised a blanket made of hay. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. He covered Wigfrid's body, resting her head gently on his folded jacket. Her red hair was loose and unruly and she was breathing heavily, showing that lovely gap teeth between her lips.

"Crazy cute woman." he murmured, smiling.

In the past, when They controlled him, Maxwell was able to read the thoughts of his future hosts. He could feel every fear, sadness and unfulfilled longing for each person. And so, make the pact of shadows.

Wigfrid was the first of all. The magician couldn’t say why he choose her. Perhaps it was because of the similarity of longings: Maxwell was once a bitter man for his lack of career success. The actress, on the other hand, had already been successful in the past, but now she was in decline. Yes, he could relate to that. He knew exactly what a decadent artist wanted.

The magician caught himself caressing the woman's freckled face, absently. He removed his hand immediately when he realized this. _Now, now, Maxy… you’re crossing the line, geez!_ he shook his head.

Sighing, Maxwell sat beside her, facing the fire. That night, he would guard while perfecting some spells.

………………………………

**The light of Sól, the daytime goddess, cleared the warrior's face. She opened her eyes, still seeing dark shadows moving in the room. _Where am I? It’s n_ ö _t Valhalla, f_ ö _r sure._ she thought, grunting in pain. Her body was sore.**

**The smell of roasted meat, however, whetted her appetite. It might not be the hall of the dead, but it looked good enough. Meat was being roasted from the fire and she promptly grabbed the small piece of divine gift, devouring it like a hungry wolf.**

**It was then that, through the twisted trees, she saw her enemy again.**

**“Good morning.” said the adversary, as if this were a trivial conversation. "Glad you're up. Are you feeling better?"**

**"Löki Laufeyjarsön!" she exclaimed to the approaching giant. "Yöu shöuld have run away while yöu still cöuld!"**

**"Whatef—?!"**

**Her spear was broken, but that didn't mean the warrior was helpless. She jumped on the trickster, knocking him to the floor and grabbing him by the collar.**

**"Wicked sön öf the giant!" the woman screamed, shaking him. “Accept yöur defeat! I deströyed the nightmare creatures yöu sent against me! Accept defeat, ör die!”**

**“Okay, okay! I yield!” he raised his long arms in surrender.**

**_Uh? Töö easy!_ thought the warrior suspiciously.**

**“Is this a trick? Why, öf cöurse it is! If yöu intend tö catch me öff guard, yöu are very wrong! Hand över yöur weapöns, Laufeyjarsön! Nöw!"**

**"I, ah... I have no weapons!"**

**"Lies!" the warrior took hold of the cheater's clothes, opening his shirt and exposing a lean torso that certainly needed more meat. "Where's yöur hidden blade, deceiver?" she reached down to the man's pants.**

**“Hey, heeeeey! What are you doing...?!"**

**_Yes, what am I d_ ö _ing?_ the woman thought, suddenly with her face as red as her hair. _Well, it's cust_ ö _m t_ ö _take pris_ ö _ners f_ ö _r the vict_ ö _rs' pleasure... I think._**

**Although she was insane, the warrior was certainly not doing anything so far from her real desires. The two women, the ruthless Valkyrie and the demure actress, seemed to wish the same thing. And the heat of the battle just removed any inhibition that she might have.**

**"Ah... ok, enough!" he gripped her arms more tightly than could be expected of such a thin man. Well, he was a giant, after all. "Although I admit that the idea of you undressing me does not displease me too much, you’re not in your right mind, Wigfrid!"**

**"What?!"**

**"The evil flowers that you helped me pick yesterday drained your sanity!" he exclaimed, sitting up with difficulty while still holding her arms. “You’re not thinking clearly, Wigfrid! Stop now, before you do something you regret!”**

**"Stöp lying tö me, wicked öne!"**

**"Oh, if I were that 'wicked' I would let you continue with what you were doing just now!" the villain smirked. "I may be a deceiver and kidnapper, but I will not go so low as to take advantage of a woman who is unaware of her own actions!"**

**"I knöw what I am döing!" she stood, carrying Maxwell with her. "I am fighting Helhem's beasts in the cömpany öf an evil giant, under a tempörary truce between Jötunheimr and Asgard!"**

**"Oh, I'm not _that_ tall..."**

**"Yöu are a mönster!"**

**"You are deranged!"**

**"The shadöws are nöt göing tö claim me töday, Laufeyjarsön!" she screamed, her eyes losing focus with madness and tears. "They... t-the shadöws önce c-claimed me... nö möre! I will n-nöt... nö...! ”**

**"Wigfrid!" the deceiver's arms wrapped around her before she fell to the floor.**

**Oh, Odin have mercy... was she that weak? She was a disgrace to the Valkyries. She was a loser, depending on the aid of an enemy to keep her feet.**

**“D-darkness will nöt...! Nöt t-them...!" the warrior cringed, humiliated. With no alternative, she buried her face in the traitor's chest, crying like a helpless child.**

**“Shhh, calm down. I promise that darkness will not claim you. Not today, at least.”**

…………………………………

Wigfrid had a good memory. This was the reason why she was always cast for complex speaking roles. She was able to decorate the lines of any script or song with no difficulty, never needing tips.

For this reason, she remembered everything that had happened that morning.

Everything.

For starts, she remembered be held by Wolfgang's arms. It seems that the other survivors were concerned about her and Maxwell and went after them. The strong man carried her back to the main base, while she looked sideways at the figure of the magician, walking beside them. His shirt was irretrievably torn after the warrior's fit against him.

In the mid afternoon, when they were already at the main camp, everyone was worried about her. After all, it wasn't always that she came back carried by someone. It was not always that she allowed herself to be carried by someone.

But this time she was too weak. And so ashamed of everything else that being carried added little pain to that already deep burn.

When night came, with her head in place, she approached Maxwell's tent. It was possible to see the silhouette of the magician sitting cross-legged, moving his hands as if he were engaged in some task. Wigfrid considered walking away, she didn't want to disturb him. But she soon realized that if she didn't do it now, she wouldn't have the courage later.

"Uh..." she lifted the tent flap, drawing the Englishman's attention. "M-maxwell?"

"Yes?" the man turned, curious as to who was calling him. He didn't recognize the voice at first.

"S-sorry..." she said, feeling so tired that she couldn't even keep up the fake Nordic accent that she used all the time. A cope mechanism since she arrived in the Constant. "I’m… so sorry for what I did!”

“It’s ok, I’m already mending my shirt with the Wickerbottom sewing kit.”

 _What?! That is your real concern?!_ she wanted to say.

“Uh… I’m n-not talking about… t-that! I’m just… oh, dear… did I really do that?"

“Ah.” Maxwell said. “About _that!_ Well, please, come in. It’s better if we talk face to face.”

She gulped, feeling ashamed. It was hard enough to talk to him about this when she was outside the tent. And now... Red-faced and looking down, she entered the tent and sat in front of the magician. He didn't look uncomfortable and smiled warmly.

“Do you want some berry juice?” he offered, politely. She just nodded, clinging to any attempt to divert the subject. Maxwell served the woman a mug, waiting for her to take a few sips before talk:

"It's everything all right. No harm done."

“But I could have hurt you. Worse...” she narrowed her eyes, embarrassed. “I c-could have _abuse_ you! Ugh! I... w-what I tried to do is unforgivable. I acted like a crazy maniac! Maybe it’s what I really am.”

"Your sanity was low at the time.”

“This is not an excuse." Wigfrid turned her face away. "I mean… it would be very convenient, on my part, to rape and kill you and then go back to camp and say it was all an accident.”

“Nevertheless, you didn't know what you were doing." Maxwell insisted.

"Maybe I knew." she sighed, turning the mug of juice as if it were an alcoholic drink.

“You mean… when you said for me to surrender or die?”

“No.” _Oh, I already jumped into the pit of shame, right?_ she gave a sad laugh, not having the nerve to look the Englishman in the eye. _What else could I say that would make the situation worse? Perhaps, speaking frankly about what I feel, can finally keep Maxwell away from me, for his own good!_ “I t-think... I think it must be Constant's loneliness, or maybe not because now we are all surrounded by friends. But I always... uh... I always found you attractive, Maxwell. In a scary way, though.”

Maxwell’s chiseled chin drop. Then, he smiled.

“It's funny what you said: 'in a scary way'! Because if there is a person I’ve always been afraid in this place, it’s you.”

“Afraid? Oh, of course... because I'm nut actress that never leaves the character, right?”

"No." he approached, bringing a hand to the woman's face to lift her chin. "Because I always wanted to flirt with you, but I was sure that the powerful and beautiful Valkyrie would tear my guts out with bare hands if I tried anything."

There was a pause of two heartbeats as the magician looked at Wigfrid expectantly. Without moving, she gave him a silent permission.

Maxwell tilted his head and kissed her. It had been a long time since she had kissed someone, and the last time was a fake kiss on stage. But that kiss was real, it wasn't an act or an illusory trick.

“And I say…” Maxwell whispered, moving less than a foot from her face. “I always thought your warrior persona was very, _very_ sexy!”

Wigfrid smiled. Her gap teeth showing as the expression on his face changed drastically. She was back to the old character. And like all protagonists, she had to fight for dominance.

With a rather abrupt movement, she took the magician's shoulders and pushed him towards the bed roll, smiling with malice.

“I haven't yet reaped my battle spöils, giant!” the Scandinavian accent slid naturally from her tongue.

"Ah...!" It took Maxwell a second to recover from the surprise, but then he smiled, making a false expression of fear. "What do you mean by that, O mighty warrior?”

“What I have named! Ask nöt Wigfrid tö say again!” she reached for Maxwell's shirt. this time, unbuttoning the buttons being careful not to ruin his clothes again. “Yöu will live, Löki! Yet living, albeit in less glöry! A prisöner öf mine will yöu be!”

“Gah, no! Will you trap me with a snake over my head to spill poison in my face?”

“Hah, nöt yet, trickster!” she kissed his forehead. Without moving her lips from the magician's skin, Wigfrid mumbled. “These raven thinning tresses of yöurs will be wet with the sweat öf yöur labör. These bröad lips öf yöurs will be swöllen with mine kisses and bites. This daunting face öf yöurs will be möre beautiful… when I _sit_ ön it!”

Maxwell gave a throaty roar that would surely give him a role in some play as a monster or a demon. But instead of freezing blood, Wigfrid felt her blood boil. Especially when his steady hands gripped her with ferocity and passion, eliciting groans mixed with intonations of battle from the actress.

Today, the halls of Asgard would be filled with other types of screams. More pleasured ones.


	7. Primitive Instincts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer for issues of dubious consent and monsterfucking. This chapter will have a more explicit tone than the others.
> 
> Maxwell x Woodie: Maxwood… ͡ ° ͜ʖ ͡ °

It will happen again. Everyone already knows this, the water on the Moon Dial already reveals that it will be a full moon night.

Woodie already knows what to do.

Without saying a word, he begins to collect some of his things. Items that he will need for when the transformation passes and he returns to reason like a normal human being. Torches, a blanket, food... real food, not logs.

Lucy also goes with him, to give him moral support. It always helps him maintain a healthy mind during the crises. The woodcutter strokes the axe blade delicately, smiling. No matter what happens, Lucy will always be with him.

"Take care, buddy." Wilson tells him, in a tone of concern.

"Thanks." the redhead smiles gratefully. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

And then Woodie leaves the camp, heading for a more remote area with several evergreens. As they are in the middle of summer the woodcutter soon feels his back sweat. He removes the shirt, wrapping it inside his backpack. He sits under a tree, already feeling the ominous feeling that creeps inside his being. Soon, the transformation will begin.

It wouldn't be so bad if he could learn to control himself. His werebeaver shape is quite useful in battle, not to mention that he feels warmer in the winter. Unfortunately, when Woodie is in this form, he ends up indulging his most primitive instincts. But in spite of everything, he remains conscious and always remembers everything.

He still felt sorry for the day he accidentally wounded Wilson when he approached to pick up a log of his for the fire. It was just a scratch, but it could have been a lot worse. He also felt guilty for scaring Weeber and making the boy cry when he witnessed his transformation. Wow, it takes a lot to make a half spider boy scared!

_It wasn't your fault, dear._

"I know, Lucy ... I know." he murmurs to his axe. "Even so, I could have avoided these situations."

_You do your best, love._

“Do I do it? Well, when it's full moon I can predict when the transformation takes place, but sometimes it can happen out of blue! And it scares me.”

_You are a good man and you would never hurt someone on purpose._

"Do you think so?" the woodcutter gives a weak laugh. “I must confess that I still have some unresolved issues within me. I would still be able to happily strangle some people... like that arrogant Englishman.”

_You and everyone, dear._

“Okay... but that doesn't justify violence, eh? I don't want to be like that. I... ugh... ”

Night has come and the transformation begins. Woodie's clothes - which have already been specially made to withstand the growth of his body - expand. His nails grow, and so do his teeth. He gains height and becomes strong, even more than Wolfgang.

 _Oh my darling!_ the axe falls to the ground, but it doesn't seem to bother with it. _Even though this shape is a curse, you look so manly!_

_Kind of you, Lucy! Now... I'm really hungry!_

The werebeaver launches itself against a tree and begins to devour its trunk. Primitive instincts, such as hunger, become much more acute. He devours wood like a hungry lunatic.

This is another reason why he prefers to stay out of the main camp. More than once he ended up devouring something important and leaving everyone with few resources. Shame on him.

The trees in that region are all already eaten and now the werebeaver needs to find others. It runs under all fours, sniffing the air for fresh, appetizing logs.

Until his snout ends up sniffing something different.

He runs to a clearing and realizes that someone is there. Someone is crouching, picking blue mushrooms. Full moon nights are ideal for this, but it was dangerous to be so close to where Woodie was.

_Uh-oh!_

It was Maxwell. The magician put the mushrooms in his backpack, while he seemed distracted looking for more. He hadn't noticed the werebeaver yet. Too bad.

"Rrrrraaaa....!"

"What?!"

He jumped up, looking at the creature before him. It took a few moments for his vision to adapt to the low light and for him to recognize the silhouette.

"Woodie?"

Primitive instincts. The woodcutter is furious when he stands before the man who imprisoned him in that place. He bares his big teeth at the magician, but uses all his willpower to keep from advancing on him.

"Raaaaarrraaghhh!" he growls, but actually he means:

_Run, you big hoser! Run while you still can!_

But Maxwell doesn't move. He keeps looking at Woodie's monstrous shape, more specifically his lower body.

_Oh no! I thought too much about Lucy!_

The werebeaver's thick, erect member had escaped its confinement. It happened from time to time, but no one was ever there to see it. Usually Woodie’s wood would pass right after the transformation was over, but now...

Primitive instincts.

_Oh... no!_

It’s stronger than him. The werebeaver leaps over the magician. Instinctively, Maxwell raises his arms towards his head and neck, fearing he will be bitten in a vital area. But no, this is not the area that the monster has put its mouth on.

"Wo-wooo-ooodie?!"

The creature's huge teeth pull the buttons off the magician's elegant suit. The older man screams, almost as if he's been gutted. A strong and powerful paw keeps him in place, while the monster continues to tear off his clothes, leaving the pale skin exposed in the moonlight.

 _What am I doing?!_ he tries to reason, but fails. His body moves against his will.

Maxwell exhales when his body is unceremoniously turned over, his chest walloping violently on the ground. His pants and underwear are pulled out in a single movement that, due to brutality, also leaves scratch marks on the claws along the length of his thighs. He's not moving. Is it fear? He is afraid that if he tries to escape, the monster will kill him?

 _Run, idiot! Run!_ Woodie thinks of despair. He even lifts his body and moves his paws away, a clear signal for the old hoser to get the hint and run.

But it is too late now.

His snout sniffs the magician's private parts and soon begins to lick his buttocks. The wet tongue passes through the balls, the perineum and begins to lubricate the wrinkled hole. It drips, while still being smeared by the hot, viscous liquid from the monster's mouth. One of the long fingers, with enormous nails, penetrates the entrance, widening it. Maxwell groans, he probably must be in pain.

 _No... no, no, no, I can't do that!_ gathering a superhuman willpower, Woodie begins to get up. _Not even Maxwell deserves to suffer such violence! No...!_

And then, he feels a tight grip on his thigh. As he looks down, he realizes that the magician is holding him tightly with his hand.

"Finish what you started..." he says, panting.

"Nggg... gguuuu ...?!" the woodcutter can hardly believe what he heard. It must be a mistake brought on by the haze of madness of transformation.

"Come on, pal ...!" the older man positions himself in an even more obscene way. His butt up, his saliva-lubricated hole exposed. "... finish it!"

There was no need to insist. Powerful hands grasp the magician's narrow, lean hips. In a quick lunge, almost without giving time to accommodate the thick member of the werebeaver, the older man is impaled.

"AaaahhhHHH...!"

Woodie isn't sure if that exclamation was one of pleasure or pain. Probably both. But now there is no more room for regrets. With strong and bestial movements, the creature begins to fuck Maxwell.

For such a thin man, his hole is considerably large. It’s not the first time that he is doing this and he has certainly been sodomized other times. Everyone in the camp knew about the occasional encounters the magician had with the weightlifter, but as far as the woodcutter knew, these were not frequent encounters. And Wolfgang, even with all that size, enjoyed be a bottom.

But now it was Maxwell who was a bottom. Amazing Maxwell, with his face in the dirt and his ass up. The mighty arrogant king, being fucked like he's a cheap whore.

Ah, primitive instincts: lust and cruelty. Woodie impales him several times, not caring about the blood dripping from the scratches on his skin and the painful way his old body bends. His teeth dangerously close to the magician’s jugular, scratching his shoulders and pushing his muscles to the limit. The two men fuck until sweat starts dripping from both of their foreheads. The smell of wet beaver must not be very pleasant.

Blood, sweat and sex. The scent of the two men's copulation pushes Woodie's hypersensitized brain to the limit. He continues to stock up with violence, until he...

... finishes.

"GggghhhhIIINNNNGGG!!!"

He squeaks loudly, his vision blurred and his confused werebeaver brain overtaken by the high. He had never come in that form and the experience is far more intense than he ever experienced in his human form.

The last thing he remembers is that he was careful to not fall over Maxwell and kill him crushed.

............................

The next morning, Woodie wakes up with a dry mouth. He always wakes up with a dry mouth after a night of transformation.

"Say, pal." a curved silhouette begins to gain focus before the woodcutter's eyes. "You look great."

The redhead looks up, seeing Maxwell in front of him. The man, despite having a satisfied expression on his face, looks exhausted. Not to mention that it is possible to see the purple marks on his exposed arms and legs.

"I wouldn't say the same about you, eh?"

The magician chuckles and offers Woodie a bowl of water. The woodcutter drinks the water and takes a long breath. Only after that did the events of the previous night begin to come back to him.

"Sorry." he says, lowering his head. "I... I hurt you... I should have controlled myself more, I ... ugh! I’m sorry!"

"Don’t be." Maxwell rubs his aching shoulder. “I could have escaped, if I wanted to. But I must admit that... well, I was curious... and horny. ”

"You old degenerate." the woodcutter can't help but giggle.

"I've been called worse."

"I imagine." Woodie finished drinking his water. "We... uh ... can we… not comment on what happened to the others?"

"Sure." the magician shrugged. "If you prefer it that way."

"I prefer. Well... uh... do you need help walking? "

"Hmm, I'm afraid so."

Woodie gets up and offers his hand to the magician. He groans a little, but it looks like he's fine. No broken bones at least. He is able to walk alone, although limping a little. And the way he walks gives a good indication of what he did the night before.

The woodcutter returns to the evergreen area where he was before. He starts to collect the things he left behind. When he takes Lucy in his hands, he feels that his dear axe is colder than it should be.

"Lucy?"

 _Woodie._ the axe's mental voice drips disappointment. _We need to have a VERY serious talk!_


End file.
